The Monster Beside Me
by mappietaffy
Summary: Since Jennifer Blake revealed her true identity, Lydia Martin has been on a quest to discover herself. She is just beginning to understand her banshee abilities. However, when a man and his brother appear in Beacon Hills to investigate the recent mysterious deaths, she will be faced with more questions and unattainable answers than ever before.


Yes, I am crazy. Enjoy.

_I do not own the characters from Teen Wolf nor from Supernatural. The title is subject to change. _

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She didn't know why she was pacing in front of the dirty distillery for the emotionally tormented, but she knew she couldn't stop. She could nearly smell the health code violations and cigarette smoke from where she stood twenty feet from the front door. The muffled vibrations of classic rock rumbled in her ears. She had been pacing for twenty minutes now. Her anxiousness had finished its threatening and had realized itself in her trebling bones. It always began like this: an inclination, an instinct. It would lead her like a lonely spirit to a destination unknown to her until she reached it. She had tried to ignore this instinct, but she had found that succumbing to it was an inevitability.

The autumn evening came with the promise of an early nightfall, and in those twenty minutes the sun had begun to sink behind the tree laden hills. As orange rays of bright sunlight fell across her auburn hair, she pursed her pink lips. That quickly approaching autumn evening was beginning to unnerve her more than she already was. The idea of being alone in the dark was not appealing to her, especially in front of this biker infested wasteland. She wished to conjure up some of Allison's famous courage as she stood there, knowing what she was about to face. She knew the terrors that stood behind the closed door, but even so, the pull was growing stronger.

She felt it moving her feet as she began to take steps towards the building that she didn't want to take. It pulled her hand from her side and settled it against the faded brass door handle. The door swung open. Her eyes glued to the floor, the heels of her wedged boot clicked against the hardwood. Hands shaking, ears flooded with the blaring music, she unwillingly lifted her eyes to the bar before her. A group of hairy, middle aged men crowded in the corner, a beer bottle in one hand and a pool stick in the other. Several men were seated at the bar as a tattooed woman in a tank top poured a pint. The scene seemed typical for such a place. She had been expecting a body or a trail of blood. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps this time the instinct was incorrect.

As her hands began to relax and her heart rate slowed, she realized that she should either leave or buy a drink with the way the bar's patrons were eyeing her suspiciously. As she lifted her shoulders and elongated her neck, she appeared to ooze confidence in her walk to the bar. She seated herself a stool away from a man sipping casually on beer. He didn't look at her as she turned towards the bartender and asked, "Can I have a beer, please?"

The brunette behind the bar lifted an eyebrow at her. "Can I see your I.D., please?" the bartender replied in a mocking tone. As a sarcastic smile appeared on her glossy lips, she pulled her wallet from her purse. She revealed the impressively crafted fake I.D. and handed it to the woman. Seeing that indeed the girl appeared to be twenty-two, the bartender handed her the I.D. and went to retrieve a beer. She set down the glass bottle roughly and reluctantly on the wooden bar and walked away with a slight narrow of her eyes.

With a deep sigh she took a swing from the bottle and set it back down. She tried to hide her cringe. She had never been much of a fan of beer. Though she wouldn't admit, especially to anyone in this establishment, she was a much bigger fan of fruity drinks. As the repulsing taste settled in her mouth, her eyes began to wander. This was when she realized he had been staring at her. As she caught his eye she jumped, her grip around the bottle tightening defensively. She began to wonder if she had made the wrong decision. She began to inch off the seat as her wide green eyes starred at him in fear. He moved to face her, his hands lifting in surrender.

"Hey, hey, hey. Sorry," He said in a low voice with a light rasp. "I-uh, was just noticing that you hardly look old enough to drive, much less drink," he said with a small, playful smirk. She relaxed, though barely, and lifted an eyebrow in the stranger's direction. She huffed and rolled her eyes as she lifted the beer to her lips and took a small sip. God, that was awful.

"Perhaps, you could avoid looking like a complete dick if you did less noticing," she replied, one leg still hanging off the barstool. She was prepared to evacuate the bar at any moment, but the creepy, though undeniably attractive, man before her seemed to be tempting her to stay. He chuckled and narrowed his eyes at her in mild confusion. He seemed to be interested in her, but she didn't think it was in a sexual assault type of way. So when he slid into the seat next to her she chose to remain seated, though she did inch a decent distance from the right side of the stool. He chuckled again as he noticed her moving farther away from him and offered a hand to her. The skepticism in her eyes was undeniable, but her fear was slowly overwhelming it. She took his hand, nevertheless, and shook it. She tried to ignore the shockwave of death that surged through her bones as her soft, pale hand graced his rough one, but this too seemed to overwhelm her.

"Dean," he uttered, a satisfied smile on his lips.

And reluctantly she replied, "Lydia."

As he let out a content sigh he relaxed in the seat and sipped his own beer. "So Lydia, in order to avoid looking like a complete dick," he mocked with a playful smile. "I won't assume that you go to Beacon Hills High School, but I will assume that you have a basic knowledge of the people that have died recently in your sleepy little town." Lydia looked away from him; her eyes darted the space behind his head. A shadow moved against the wall. The music faded slowly from her ears as her eyes locked onto the contorted figured moving towards her. Her hands were shaking again. Her nails dug into the wood on the chair as she took in labored, shallow breaths. It drew closer to her and quicker with every beat of her heart. It had fangs and claws and blood red eyes, but it was faceless. It didn't have any features or skin. It's body was as empty and cold as the death that surrounded her. She could hear Dean calling her name, but it seem like he was a million miles away and infinitely less important than the approaching monster.

She felt the scream on her lips. She would release it any moment now. She never knew how she would die, but she never suspected that she would be an omen of her own death. She was frozen as the creature took another step. She was in its reach now. She saw it move its claws out to her, but they stop before they reached her. Instead they wrapped around Dean's neck and punctured the stubbled skin. Lydia gasped covered her mouth as blood ran down his chest. The life faded from his eyes and the smirk fell off his lips. He seemed to be trying to speak, but his words came out in gurgled incoherencies. She had stopped breathing and couldn't move. She would scream. She was going to scream.

"Lydia!" his voice echoed in her ears. He shook her, his hands on her shoulders. She blinked and looked at him. He was alive. His neck was intact. There was no monster. But the whole bar was staring at her and she felt like she had when everyone thought she was crazy; like when Peter. . . She shook the thought. She was still shaking. All she could think was she needed to leave. Clumsily she stood and ran from the bar, her heels clicking as she went. She didn't know what had just happened, but she did know that man, Dean, would die here. She had never been more certain of anything.

The door slammed behind her. Startled and confused Dean blinked rapidly, as if this would help him understand what exactly had just happened. He paid for the girl's drink, sliding a bill to the bartender, and also took his leave, attempting to follow where she went. But as he exited the bar and looked around for her in the dark night, she was no where to be found. Puzzled, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. The phone picked up after one ring.

"Sammy," he began, "there is something up with this town."

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Woo. Yay for short intros. I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy for shipping this, but I just need it to happen. I have zero idea where this story is going, but I'm excited to see where it leads. Hopefully, you are too. Get excited for chapter 2!

-Dani


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